


Practice and Problem Solving

by thatanon1



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: :((, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Bottom Sakusa Kiyoomi, Bratting, Corporal Punishment, Cuddling & Snuggling, Don't Like Don't Read, Established Relationship, Food Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Kiyoomi is 18, Light BDSM, M/M, No Smut, Non-Sexual Spanking, Non-Sexual Submission, Probably ooc, Protective Ushijima Wakatoshi, Punishment, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Self-Esteem Issues, Soft Ushijima Wakatoshi, Spanking, Stress Relief, Swearing, Top Ushijima Wakatoshi, im sorry, kiyoomi doesnt take care of himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:40:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29036355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatanon1/pseuds/thatanon1
Summary: “You’ve been overworking yourself again, Kiyoomi.”Wakatoshi watches his boyfriend jolt, though it’s a slight thing. Kiyoomi has always been hyper-aware of his surroundings, almost to a fault, and he’s never been the most expressive. His cute smiles and frustrated pouts are near-constantly hidden behind his mask, anyway, not that it makes Wakatoshi love him any less.He usually thinks it’s cute, actually. But nothing about this is cute.Or: Kiyoomi internalizes a bit too deeply, but Wakatoshi is always there to bring him back to the surface.(This is a punishment fic between two consenting adults. Don’t like? Don’t read.)
Relationships: Sakusa Kiyoomi/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 5
Kudos: 83





	Practice and Problem Solving

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teadear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teadear/gifts).



> I’ve never written for this fandom before and it’s probably suuuuuper OOC but mehhhh it’s the thought that counts, right?
> 
> Welp anyway, this is an alternate universe that takes place in a college setting instead of high school. Kiyoomi is 18, and Wakatoshi is 20.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!! <3

“You’ve been overworking yourself again, Kiyoomi.”

Wakatoshi watches his boyfriend jolt, though it’s a slight thing. Kiyoomi has always been hyper-aware of his surroundings, almost to a fault, and he’s never been the most expressive. His cute smiles and frustrated pouts are near-constantly hidden behind his mask, anyway, not that it makes Wakatoshi love him any less.

He usually thinks it’s cute, actually. But nothing about this is cute.

“Get off my back, Toshi,” Kiyoomi grumbles after a moment, still seeming a bit shaken by his sudden appearance. Kiyoomi has been getting lost in his head a lot lately, after all, starting to spiral in a way that Wakatoshi has _tried_ to prevent.

He just stays where he is, though, arms crossed over his chest as he watches Kiyoomi spike the ball against the wall, over and over again. He knows that his boyfriend is exhausted, and the slight slump in his shoulders and the heaviness of his limbs as he tosses the ball in the air makes resolve harden in Wakatoshi’s chest.

“Kiyoomi, that’s enough. Come here.”

To his credit, Kiyoomi does pause, and without his mask, Wakatoshi can see the small downturn of his boyfriend’s lips as he steps closer, brows furrowed in that familiar almost-pout. There’s sweat on his forehead, dripping down the side of his face, and Wakatoshi sighs. Kiyoomi usually looks at peace when he plays, when he’s in his element, but he’s too stressed to even enjoy _this,_ now.

“Kiyoomi,” he says again as he comes up beside his boyfriend, a bit lower this time. A bit more warningly. He gently pries the ball from his hands, ignoring the death stare that follows the movement. “We practice enough without you running off to do your own spikes. This isn’t how you improve, sweetheart.”

Kiyoomi at least flushes at the pet name, but when his eyes still turn stubbornly to the side, Wakatoshi knows it won’t be that easy. “I was out of bounds during practice on Monday,” he confesses, quiet as it is, and Wakatoshi blinks. He nearly forgot about that, as small of a deal that it was.

“And…” he encourages, but Kiyoomi stares at him blankly. “Did the guys give you a hard time or something?” Kiyoomi has always been a bit of a loner, but his new teammates have brought him out of his shell a little bit, at least. Wakatoshi can hardly imagine any of them giving him flack for it, especially since Kiyoomi is one of their best players. All of them make mistakes - _regularly,_ in fact, and it’s no big deal. It’s how they improve.

Kiyoomi has always had trouble accepting that, though. He’s always wanted to show he’s worth something, past the point of being healthy.

 _“No,”_ he hisses, a bit too sharply for Wakatoshi’s tastes. The younger boy snatches the ball back from his boyfriend’s grasp, bouncing it on the ground a few times, and Wakatoshi’s brows shoot to his hairline. “ _I_ just happen to care about this team, and, you know. _Winning._ ” He huffs quietly, petulant, voice lowering. “At least I’m not some selfish asshole, like _some_ people.”

His tone is quieter, more of an indignant mumble than anything, nearly under his breath. But Wakatoshi hears him loud and clear.

“Excuse me?” he intones, letting his voice drop to a pitch that Kiyoomi should be pretty familiar with by now. He sees it in the sudden tension in the boy’s shoulders, the sudden pause in his one-track mind, but the defiant furrow in his brow remains as he spikes the ball at the wall with a bit more force than necessary. “Would you like to repeat that? Because I can’t _imagine_ I just heard you correctly, little boy.”

Kiyoomi scrambles for the ball as it comes back, nearly dropping it, and the red blush painting his face would be cute under any other circumstance.

But Wakatoshi keeps his resolve firm and takes another step closer, grasping Kiyoomi’s arm before the boy can jolt back. “Well? I consider myself to be a reasonable guy, Kiyoomi. Why don’t you share with the class, yeah?”

For all his gall, Kiyoomi glares at him fiercely, trying in vain to pull his arm back, and Wakatoshi nearly shakes his head to himself. He’s a little disappointed.

The other boy tugs a little harder, growling under his breath, until he decides to ignore his occupied arm in favor of attempting a one-handed spike. Wakatoshi intercepts it before it can go anywhere, gripping his boyfriend’s wrist in a vice grip, and he dips his head a bit lower, clenching his jaw and sending Kiyoomi a _very_ thorough warning look.

Kiyoomi, in turn, flexes his own jaw and narrows his eyes into slits, breathing out sharply in a huff. His nostrils flare, and the steady tension in his shoulders builds until Wakatoshi almost thinks the boy is about to do something _especially_ stupid. They meet each other’s eyes, one in warning and one in obvious defiance, and for what it’s worth, Wakatoshi hopes his boyfriend won’t make things harder for either of them.

But, once again, he finds himself disappointed.

Kiyoomi tears out of his grip, angry and desperate and so, so exhausted, and Wakatoshi lets him, hands falling to his sides as the other boy rages. The boy’s hands, smaller than Wakatoshi’s own, raise above his head and slam the ball on the ground in a sudden flurry of movement. “Just fuck _off,_ Toshi!”

The ring of his yell echoes around the gym.

Wakatoshi lets him stew for a moment, tucking the ball under his arm that undoubtedly would have slammed into his chin had he not caught it, and watches as his boyfriend’s face slowly morphs from anger to hesitance to nervous regret. It’s something he’s seen many times, of course, though his tantrums usually don’t get to this point, and that only solidifies his decision.

Kiyoomi has obviously been looking for a way to wind down, and as his boyfriend, Wakatoshi is _more_ than happy to oblige.

“W-Wakatoshi,” Kiyoomi gasps as his arm is gripped, likely recognizing the serious error in his behavior, but Wakatoshi pays him no mind, tossing the volleyball toward the rack to keep his full attention on the teen that so _desperately_ needs his attention. He marches them both in the direction of the locker room, ignorant to the other boy stumbling and dragging his feet alongside him. “W-Wait, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… to say that.”

Wakatoshi does not pause. “And yet you did.”

He pushes the door to the locker room open with his shoulder to tug Kiyoomi inside, locking it behind him. Wakatoshi sees the boy’s throat bob up and down as he whirls to face him, but he doesn’t let up on his heavy stare, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You _did_ choose to speak disrespectfully, Kiyoomi,” he asserts, and a part of him hates the way Kiyoomi shrinks back. He wants to hold his boy _now,_ not after the punishment they both know is coming, but that simply won’t do. He has a responsibility to Kiyoomi. “And what’s _worse,_ is you chose to overwork yourself _past_ the point of exhaustion - I know you wouldn’t do this otherwise, baby.”

Kiyoomi glances at him, eyes already red-rimmed and swimming with guilt, and Wakatoshi indulges himself slightly, pulling him close and kissing his forehead.

“But we’re going to get this whole mess worked out, alright?” he mutters softly, running a hand through soft hair. After a moment, Kiyoomi sags against him. “Then you’re going to come home with me, and we’re gonna settle down for a nice nap. How does that sound, hmm?”

Kiyoomi just nods against him, sniffling, and Wakatoshi brings his hand down to swat him lightly. “Verbal answers, sweetheart. You know this,” he says over the boy’s soft whine. He knows how much Kiyoomi hates it, but Wakatoshi needs to know he’s fully cognizant, able to speak up if he needs to.

“Can we just skip straight to that part,” Kiyoomi whines more than asks, and Wakatoshi huffs a quiet laugh. That’s answer enough for him.

“No, sweetheart,” he chuckles quietly, before sobering up enough to settle his hands on either side of Kiyoomi’s face, meeting his eyes gently. “You’ve clearly been begging for my attention for a while now, and I can’t let this go on anymore. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long.”

He tugs his boyfriend toward a locker room bench, settling down and pulling the boy to stand between his knees. The quiet sniffles nearly manage to sway him, and the small, distressed furrow in Kiyoomi’s brow feels more difficult to cope with than the last time they had to do this. He smooths his thumbs over the boy’s hands, trying to soothe some of that tension, and sends him a small nod.

When Kiyoomi sends a hesitant nod back, cheeks pinkening, Wakatoshi pats his hip reassuringly and reaches for the button of the boy’s trousers.

“W-Wait,” Kiyoomi stammers, attempting to block his boyfriend’s hands with his own, and Wakatoshi doesn’t hesitate to smack them.

“You know better than that, Kiyoomi,” he tsks, pausing to stare at him pointedly until Kiyoomi puts his hands on his head, sniffling softly. “Unless you want to tell me something?”

He watches something dance in Kiyoomi’s eyes, a sort of self-pitying and pleading look, before he shakes his head wordlessly. Wakatoshi and Kiyoomi both know that if he was truly overwhelmed, he could use his safeword now, or even their hand signal if he can’t manage verbal speech. It’s something Wakatoshi has always been clear about, especially after knowing how much Kiyoomi despises punishment or any sort of disappointment directed at him.

“N… No, sir,” he whispers when Wakatoshi gives him a look, arms starting to tremble from where his hands are locked behind his head. “I… I don’t h-have anything to say.”

Wakatoshi nods shortly. “Alright, then.” He keeps any sort of praise from his voice, not wanting to encourage the idea that using his safeword is a bad thing.

His hands resume their task, and Kiyoomi sniffles again as his pants are dragged down to his ankles, whining in soft protest. “I know, baby boy,” he mutters, giving his thigh a reassuring squeeze. “I know.”

After removing his socks and shoes, he guides Kiyoomi to step out of his pants, ignoring the small, distressed squawk of _‘o-off?!’,_ merely sending him an incredulous look. It’s true that Wakatoshi typically only brings his trousers down to his knees, and most of the time, it’s more effective, as it prevents excessive kicking. But at the very least, this warrants a bare-bottom spanking, and he doesn’t want them getting in the way.

Kiyoomi probably won’t _want_ the rough material over his butt, anyway, by the time Wakatoshi is done with him.

Wakatoshi picks up the discarded pants and folds them over the bench, catching Kiyoomi’s sad eyes following the movement forlornly. He swallows down any amusement, though, not wanting Kiyoomi to think he’s laughing at him while he’s in such a vulnerable place.

“There we go, sweetheart,” Wakatoshi murmurs quietly, grasping Kiyoomi’s forearm to easily tug him over his knee. Kiyoomi whines, his shoulders already trembling, and Wakatoshi smooths a hand up his back, the other running up and down the side of his thigh to his hip. “Are you alright, baby?”

“Ye-Yes, sir,” he whispers, and Wakatoshi can see his ears begin to darken before he buries his face in his arms. The younger boy hesitates, jaw working around words that he can’t form right now, and Wakatoshi squeezes his leg reassuringly. “Are- Are you m-mad at me?”

Wakatoshi’s stomach drops.

“No, baby,” he answers immediately, and _maybe_ he’s being a little too soft at the moment, but he leans down to press a kiss to the small of Kiyoomi’s back. “Of course not. I’m a little disappointed, yes, and I didn’t appreciate the disrespect you showed me back there. But I’m disappointed because I _care_ about you, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself over something so silly. Do you understand?”

He can feel Kiyoomi’s chest shuddering against his thigh, and the boy’s body seems to curl forward, as if he wants to wrap himself around Wakatoshi’s leg but has nowhere to go. “Uh-huh,” he says quickly, unable to hide the desperate relief in his tone. Wakatoshi feels a stab of guilt in his chest, because he _knows_ how much Kiyoomi looks up to him, how much he hates making him upset. “I… I didn’t mean to disappoint you, Waka. I’m sorry.”

Wakatoshi breathes out a shaky sigh of relief, grateful that Kiyoomi doesn’t seem to be internalizing anything. He straightens in his seat, giving the other boy one last, gentle pat to his leg, before moving his hand up to settle on his bottom.

Kiyoomi tenses beneath him, the sniffling pausing as he holds his breath. “All will be forgiven, sweetheart,” he says, forcing some authority back into his tone. He exhales shakily. “Now, are you ready to take your punishment like a good little boy?”

Wakatoshi lets him take his time, rubbing a gentle, sympathetic hand up and down his boyfriend’s back, trying to soothe the minute tremors running through his frame. The younger boy takes a deep breath, chest expanding against Wakatoshi’s leg, before he mutters a small, resigned, “Y-Yes, sir.”

And that’s all Wakatoshi needs.

He lifts his hand abruptly, sliding his other hand back down to rest on Kiyoomi’s back, and lets it fall sharply onto the upturned backside in front of him. The sting in his palm is familiar, the clap of it loud enough for him to know it’s effective, and the boy over his knee jumps at the sudden pain.

The small, abrupt cry nearly splits his heart in two. _“Ow…”_ Kiyoomi whispers wetly, likely still in shock, which Wakatoshi can’t exactly blame him for. He’s not exactly going easy on him, but Wakatoshi forces himself to ignore Kiyoomi’s long whine, lifting his hand high to slap it down again. “Do you understand why we’re here, Kiyoomi Sakusa?”

He keeps his pace relatively slow, sure to make every strike count, and it clearly pays off when Kiyoomi wiggles desperately, crying out. Wakatoshi knows that his boyfriend needs this, needs the slow, methodical swats to help him think. If they come too quickly or too lightly, it overwhelms him, and Wakatoshi is well-aware that he can handle much more than this. “I- I’ve been overworking myself!”

Wakatoshi hums, laying a firm smack to the other boy’s left sit-spot, then going over the same place twice more. Kiyoomi yelps at the sting, grabbing ahold of Wakatoshi’s pant-leg. “Mhm, very good. And what else?”

“I’m…” he can practically see Kiyoomi’s mind scrambling, trying to remember his other many, _many_ offenses. Wakatoshi pauses in his strikes, just for a moment, and rubs where he just smacked. “I… I was rude! I- I said m-mean things to- to you.”

“That is part of it, yes,” Wakatoshi amends, releasing the heated flesh to sear more handprints into the other cheek. Kiyoomi’s voice is already damp as he cries out again, and Wakatoshi presses his lips into a thin line, wondering distantly how long it’s been since his boyfriend slept. He’s usually not quite this sensitive so soon.

He moves further down, painting the tops of his thighs a light pink, and then works his way back up to the sensitive undercurve. “You were disrespectful when I was only trying to _help._ Arrogance is not a good look on you, Kiyoomi, and you know how much I hate to see you _hurt_ yourself like this.”

Kiyoomi writhes in his lap as Wakatoshi picks up the pace, squirming and moving his hips side to side. “Then-” he gasps, bucking slightly, when Wakatoshi’s smacks graze the sensitive inner-area of his thigh. “Then don’t _watch,”_ he all but hisses.

Wakatoshi pauses, hand still raised.

The locker room drops to a near-dead silence, only Kiyoomi’s hard breathing to be heard, though Wakatoshi’s heartbeat in his ears is plenty loud. He breathes deeply once, then another time, and Kiyoomi’s body jolts when Wakatoshi settles his hand down lightly on his ass, hardly forceful enough to even be considered a love-tap.

He counts to ten. Slowly.

“I’m sorry, Kiyoomi,” he says, forcing a light tone that he and his boyfriend both know is anything but. Kiyoomi tenses on his lap, suddenly stiff as a board, and Wakatoshi can easily read the _regret regret regret_ in every tense muscle. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

His hand clenches around the waistband of Kiyoomi’s boxer briefs, and his boyfriend seems to have finally realized the weight of his words, breathing in sharply and throwing a desperate hand back. “No, no, no- Wakatoshi, I’m _sorry,_ I didn’t mean it- please just wait a minute-”

“Oh?” he questions, cutting off the stream of pleas and easily pinning the offending arm to the small of Kiyoomi’s back. He starts to wriggle a bit more aggressively, and Wakatoshi swats his thigh, _hard._ “So, you _didn’t_ mean to imply that I shouldn’t care about your naughty choices? That I shouldn’t care about _you?”_

Kiyoomi stutters, but Wakatoshi isn’t going to let him defend his case, this time. Not for something like this.

He easily swoops his boyfriend’s underwear down to his ankles, ignoring the squeak and increased struggling that he gets in response, and rests his hand lightly upon bare, darkened skin. A bit of red is forming on the curve of his bottom, and pink splotches adorn his thighs and higher up his backside. 

By the time he’s finished, Wakatoshi is going to make it a nice, uniform red.

His hand cracks down on Kiyoomi’s sitspots, and he thoughtfully tilts the boy forward until the skin of his thighs is stretched taut. “I’m sorry to say this, little boy, but you are _sorely mistaken.”_

‘Sorely,’ indeed.

“I’m- W-Waka, I’m _sorry!”_ Kiyoomi pushes his toes against the cold floor of the locker room, and Wakatoshi hardens his heart against the increasingly loud, distressed cries of his boyfriend. The floor squeaks as his bare feet scrape against it, but it’s mostly drowned out by the distinctive _slap_ of his hand on tender flesh. 

“I don’t want to hear that you’re sorry,” Wakatoshi tells him firmly, hoping that Kiyoomi can hear him over his own cries, “though I’m glad you are. I want you to _understand,_ Kiyoomi, that you mean more to me than _anything_ else in the whole _world,_ and I will _not_ have you skipping meals or sleep or _anything_ for the sake of more practice.”

His hand falls in an easy rhythm, working further down to mid-thigh and back up again. Kiyoomi gives a sad wail, kicking his feet out. “And on top of _everything,”_ he continues, sharpening his words and the force of his slaps, “you will not even _imply_ that I _shouldn’t care about you._ You deserve the _world,_ Kiyoomi Sakusa, even if you’re out of bounds every single time you play. Hell, even if you lose all your limbs and can’t play _any_ sport, you will _never_ be any less deserving of my love. _Is that understood?”_

His hand is stinging like mad, and he can hardly even imagine how much Kiyoomi’s bottom is smarting, but he’s sure to brand five more searing swats into his boyfriend’s thighs to accentuate his question.

“Y- _yes,”_ Kiyoomi finally sobs, kicking out wildly, and Wakatoshi’s hand pauses in its assault. “I- I _understand,_ sir! I’m _sorry-_ I’m _so_ sorry.”

Wakatoshi breathes out shakily, bringing his hand down to gently rub at the dark pink skin. It’s hot to the touch, but Wakatoshi runs his hand over the marks lightly, waiting until Kiyoomi’s apologies die off to self-pitying sniffles. “I told you, Kiyoomi,” he murmurs softly, “you’ve already apologized. While I do hate seeing you hurting, it’s _yourself_ that you should be apologizing to. How long has it been since you’ve even eaten something? Gotten a good night’s rest?”

The pause is long enough for Wakatoshi to narrow his eyes.

“I… I had breakfast,” Kiyoomi says quietly, shoulders starting to hunch, and Wakatoshi doesn’t miss the way he pointedly avoids his other question. He can see the back of his boyfriend’s ears reddening, and he glances at his watch, frowning firmly at the _‘7 PM’_ that blinks back at him. His boy hasn’t eaten _all day-_ “...yesterday.”

The air, once again, seems to get sucked out of the room.

He lets go of Kiyoomi’s backside at the ensuing whine, hardly even noticing that he’d dug his fingers into it, and murmurs a low apology as he tries to center himself.

Right. His boyfriend hasn’t eaten, hasn’t been sleeping, for the better part of two days, and has apparently been holding extra ‘practices’ for himself.

“Thank you for being honest with me, sweetheart,” he praises lightly, squeezing the boy’s hip. Kiyoomi sniffs beneath him, fiddling with his pant-leg, but Wakatoshi has to stop himself from cooing. Kiyoomi needs him. “We’re almost done, now.” He sucks in a deep breath, combing a hand through his boy’s hair in a lame attempt to soothe him.

He doesn’t think _anything_ will be able to soothe him properly for the next step. Wakatoshi doesn’t think he can prepare himself, either, but he forces another breath, letting it out slowly. 

“Go get your hairbrush, please.”

Wakatoshi hears Kiyoomi stop breathing for a moment.

His boyfriend is rigid over his lap, blunt nails beginning to dig into Wakatoshi’s leg, even through his pants, and Kiyoomi is shaking his head wildly before he can even try to calm him. _“No,”_ he whispers, whining softly and squirming over Wakatoshi’s lap. “No, no, _no-”_

Wakatoshi doesn’t even hesitate, gripping Kiyoomi’s biceps and pulling him up to be eye-level with him. He meets wide, red-rimmed eyes that make his heart clench, staring at him pleadingly, but Wakatoshi keeps his gaze steady, non-judgmental. “Do you have something to tell me, Kiyoomi?”

Recognition flickers amongst the upset in his boyfriend’s eyes, and Wakatoshi tilts his head forward a bit, eyebrows raising. Kiyoomi glares at him a moment, then seems to recoil, sulkily turning his gaze to the side. “N-No,” he says quietly, resting his head on Wakatoshi’s shoulder and tracing a pattern on the floor with his toe. “I’m- I’m okay.”

“Alright, then.”

Wakatoshi nods, pressing a brief kiss to Kiyoomi’s damp cheek, and then pointedly patting his bare bottom with a sense of finality. Kiyoomi’s underwear is lost to the world, long-since having been kicked off his ankles, and the boy seems to glare at its absence, tugging his shirt down as if Wakatoshi hasn’t seen it all before. It would be cute, if it weren’t a current method of stalling.

 _“Now,_ Kiyoomi,” Wakatoshi orders, tapping his bottom a bit more firmly, and he’s grateful he doesn’t have to resort to more forceful incentive when Kiyoomi sits up with a sad huff.

He shuffles stiffly toward his locker, glowing red bottom peeking out from beneath his shirt, and Wakatoshi almost feels bad. Kiyoomi sends him a sulky look as he crouches down to retrieve the brush from his bag, but Wakatoshi refuses to waver, well-aware that they both know how much Kiyoomi deserves this.

“Good boy,” Wakatoshi praises when he returns, brushing some loose bangs out of his boyfriend’s teary eyes. He wants to scoop him up now, to hold him in his arms and kiss him and make all the upset go away, but he knows Kiyoomi wouldn’t benefit from that. This isn’t the first time Kiyoomi has neglected his needs in favor of fulfilling his desires, and Wakatoshi knows, with complete and utter certainty, that he can’t let him down again.

He guides his boyfriend back over his knee and rests the cool plastic of the brush against his surely-burning backside, internally grateful that it isn’t wood. Light and stingy seems perfect for driving the lesson home.

He pushes Kiyoomi’s shirt further back and raises the brush high, clenching his eyes shut at the feeling of his boyfriend tensing against him, and listens to the echoing silence of the locker room.

Kiyoomi _can’t_ keep hurting himself like this.

“Ten, Kiyoomi. You don’t need to count.” The brush snaps down with the weight of his resolve, filling the locker room with an echoing _clap,_ and it’s another moment before Kiyoomi makes a high, wounded sound in the back of his throat, nearly toppling off of Wakatoshi’s lap. He holds onto his hip firmly, though, sure to keep him still as he snaps the brush down again, making a matching circular mark on the opposite cheek.

“You will not neglect yourself anymore, Kiyoomi,” he informs him, swatting down on the top of his left thigh. Kiyoomi’s chest convulses. “And you will _never_ tell me to ‘fuck off’ again. I speak to you with respect, and I expect the same in return, unless you’d like to be tasting soap.”

Kiyoomi lets out a small, desperate sob, shaking his head quickly, and Wakatoshi doesn’t know if it’s because he brands another mark into his right thigh, or because he doesn’t want his mouth washed out. Either way, he hopes they won’t need to have this conversation again for a long, _long_ time.

He brings the brush down again, hardening his heart against the resulting sob. “Your worth does not lie in _volleyball,_ Kiyoomi,” he continues, laying into his soft undercurve with as little mercy as he can manage. “It does not lie in any one place, little boy, and I _refuse_ to allow you to think otherwise.”

The brush snaps down a seventh time, too _loud_ in such a large space, and Kiyoomi’s leg kicks out with a small noise, likely by reflex. Wakatoshi knows that Kiyoomi puts too much pressure on himself, a perfectionist through and through, and it does help him to have a reliable measurement of his talents. It helps him remember that he won’t be forgotten here, and people _do_ care about him, even if he’s been taught differently.

Wakatoshi, at the very least, will _never_ let him forget that.

“If you feel that you’re beginning to spiral,” he asserts, bringing the brush down again with a bit more force behind it, and Kiyoomi bucks against him with a small, sad cry, “then you can _come to me._ You are _not_ a burden, Kiyoomi Sakusa, and if you ever forget that, you can find yourself right back here.”

The brush lands on his left sit-spot, sharp and crackling, and Kiyoomi finally sags against his knee, sobbing out a loud, near-incoherent apology that is _not_ warranted.

Wakatoshi can’t bring himself to correct him.

“I love you too much for that,” Wakatoshi says, a bit softer now, though the brush is anything but as he brings it down a final time, snapping against his boyfriend’s right sit-spot. It lands heavier than the rest of them, possibly heavier than his final statement, and Kiyoomi _wails_ with it.

The lump in Wakatoshi’s throat is large, invasive, and he slowly reaches his hand under his boyfriend’s shirt, rubbing along his back in firm, grounding strokes. It helps the sobbing die down to sniffling, albeit gradually, but Wakatoshi will give his little boy all the time in the world if he needs to.

His back is warm beneath his hand, though still trembling faintly, and Wakatoshi leans down to press gentle kisses along the back of his neck. “There we go, sweetheart,” he murmurs lowly when Kiyoomi turns to the side, meeting his lips with a soft noise. “There we are.”

He helps Kiyoomi sit up on his lap, muttering reassurances close to his ear, and cradles him to his chest as his boyfriend reaches up, wrapping his arms around his neck. “You did so well, baby boy,” he says softly, slowly lowering himself from the bench and onto the floor to hold him properly. “You’re such a good boy, sweetheart. Do you understand? You’re a very good boy. We’re just gonna make some better choices next time, alright?”

Kiyoomi nods frantically against his chest, hiccupping and pulling himself impossibly closer. Wakatoshi hushes him, resting his cheek on the top of his head. “I’ll- I’ll do bett-better, Toshi,” he promises in a whisper, clutching at his shirt. “I p-promise.”

Wakatoshi nods in agreement, knowing that at the very least, this lesson would stick for a while. “I know, sweetheart. You’re alright. Let’s just focus on calming down, okay? Deep breaths for me, baby.”

Kiyoomi’s chest shudders as he inhales, but Wakatoshi is sure to breathe with him, murmuring low assurances in his ear. His boyfriend just snuggles closer, clutching his shirt like a lifeline, and Wakatoshi lets him. 

He’ll be his lifeline any day, if that’s what it takes.

The quiet sobs and hiccups eventually die down to sniffles, soft and a little pitiful, and Kiyoomi’s fingers twist the material of Wakatoshi’s shirt. “Good job, Kiyoomi.” Wakatoshi cups his boyfriend’s face, planting firm kisses along his tear tracks, down over his mouth. “You’re so, _so_ good, sweetheart. You took that so well, perfect boy. I’m very proud of you.”

Kiyoomi tugs at his shirt to kiss him softly, and Wakatoshi tastes salt on his tongue, but he doesn’t mind. He treasures such a level of trust every time Kiyoomi kisses him.

Still, Kiyoomi pulls back after a couple moments, probably milking this comfort for all it’s worth, judging by the pouty face. Not that Wakatoshi minds it. “That- That s-sucked, Toshi.”

Wakatoshi lets his lips twitch, nearly grateful that Kiyoomi’s grumbling tone is back, rather than those sad, heartbreaking cries or pained little sniffles. He rubs one hand up and down the length of his back, scratching his boyfriend’s scalp softly with the other. “Yeah? And why did it suck, sweetheart?”

He can just barely catch the flush lighting up his boyfriend’s face before he buries his face into Wakatoshi’s neck, probably too aware of himself now not to feel embarrassed. And he _shouldn’t_ feel embarrassed - not by the punishment, at least - but Kiyoomi has always been a little hard on himself. A little too proud, at times, no matter how fake it is beneath the surface. 

“You _know_ why,” he attempts to hiss, but it comes out more as a whine. Wakatoshi just gives an unimpressed hum, trying to hide the twitch in his lips as he glances to the side, and Kiyoomi groans. “It… My _ass_ hurts, Wakatoshi!”

A laugh slips out, sudden and completely unbidden, and Wakatoshi rubs his boyfriend’s thigh in apology at the ensuing groan. “I think it looks pretty like this,” he says instead, patting his backside with a featherlight touch. “Red really is your color, sweetheart.”

Kiyoomi growls under his breath, about as intimidating as a kitten. “You suck,” he jabs weakly, and Wakatoshi smiles softly, smoothing a hand over his boyfriend’s hair.

“But you love me,” he teases, planting a kiss on his cheek and trailing lightly down his throat. Kiyoomi huffs against his lips.

“Yeah,” he mutters, quieter. Kiyoomi curls up tighter around Wakatoshi, eyes finally slipping shut. Wakatoshi pulls back, letting his boyfriend rest upon his chest. 

“I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! Drop a comment if you feel like it, and I hope you have a good rest of your days/nights <33


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